


Gone From Our Sight

by kethni



Category: Midnight Caller
Genre: F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: He knew that his mind was wandering. Anything but think directly about the fact that he was carrying the coffin of probably his oldest friend.
Relationships: Jack Killian/Devon King
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Gone From Our Sight

**Author's Note:**

> For CrazyMaryT

It wasn’t the first time Jack had lost a friend, not even close, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Rusty and Tina had died. Others had gone to prison. If you had asked him then he would have said that he was used to losing people.

He would have been wrong. As he took his place among the pallbearers, he felt the familiar pit in his stomach. It wasn’t grief, not yet. It never hit that quickly. Even with a long, lingering illness, where death was expected, the end was always a shock.

There were worse ways to go, Jack figured, than a massive heart attack. Carl had been dead before he hit the ground. He didn’t know if that was better or worse for Connie and the kids. There was probably no great answer there.

He knew that his mind was wandering. Anything but think directly about the fact that he was carrying the coffin of probably his oldest friend.

He didn’t look at the mourners in the pews. He couldn’t risk it. Seeing the wrong person, with the wrong expression, would be enough to break his fragile grip on his emotions. 

Instead, after they gently placed down the coffin, he took his seat on the pew along from Connie.

It was the usual kind of cop funeral. Jack had attended too many. When the final hymn was sung, Jack didn’t lapse into conversation with the people around him but instead skirted around the little knots of mourners forming in the church and headed for the doors. He walked out into a cold day heavy with fog that San Francisco was plagued by.

‘Jack?’

He turned at the sound of a once familiar voice, his long coat catching the air as he moved.

She’d grown out her buttery, blonde hair to her shoulders. Her black dress and coat were fitted and stylish. That wasn’t surprising. She had always dressed fashionably. It was just that the last time he’d seen her, the fashion had been for boxy and overlarge clothes. Nobody should have been able to carry off a look like that, but they’d all tried.

‘Hi Devon,’ he said, waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

She was wearing elegant heels that tap, tapped on the stone steps as she came down. ‘I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to make it.’ She stopped in front of him and broke into that familiar smile. ‘What’s going on with this?’ she asked, reaching out to his face. ‘Since when do you have a beard?’

‘Since when is your hair that long?’ he replied.

‘I asked you first,’ she said sweetly. ‘Are you going to the wake?’

‘I wasn’t going to,’ he admitted. ‘Things have been kinda tense between us recently. There was this case and –’

‘Jack,’ she interrupted gently. ‘That doesn’t matter anymore. I’m sure it doesn’t matter to Connie or to the kids. I’m sure it wouldn’t matter to Carl.’

He chewed his cheek. ‘We’re going to the wake, huh?’

‘You don’t _have_ to,’ Devon said. ‘But I think you have enough regrets in life without adding that one.’ 

***

They didn’t stay at the wake for long, just a couple of drinks. Connie and the kids were inconsolable. Jack had seen enough grieving wives and kids to know when they were beyond anything he could say for comfort. Hell, they were probably only vaguely aware that he was there. That was okay. He was a friend, not family. It wasn’t the same. He knew that.

There was lots of drink and not much food, a combination that inevitably led to a certain _rowdiness_ after half an hour or so. When a couple of cops started pushing and shoving each other, Jack quietly suggested that they leave.

It was drizzling when they left the house. A low, steady rain that filled the air with a soft susurration. Devon pulled a small umbrella from her purse and put it up. Jack turned his collar up and tucked his hands into his pockets.

‘I really need something to eat,’ Devon said, slipping her arm through his. ‘I had two glasses of sherry on an empty stomach.’

‘That would be more fun if you had less of a head for alcohol.’

‘It’s a shame that Billy couldn’t get back in time,’ Devon said.

‘Bad timing,’ Jack agreed. ‘Connie understands, and they weren’t real close.’

‘No, but I would’ve liked to have seen him,’ she said. ‘I hope he hasn’t grown a beard.’

Jack grinned at her. ‘No, but Naomi finally made him cut off his mullet.’

‘The mullet!’ She laughed. ‘I’d forgotten about the mullet. Does he still have the highlights?’

‘And the feathering,’ Jack said. ‘Our Billy is a man of fashionable hair.’

‘You used to have quite fashionable hair yourself,’ she teased.

‘Moi?’ he said, feigning shock. ‘I never had a mullet.’

‘No, just that… mop of hair,’ she said.

Jack shook his head. ‘I am heartbroken that you would impugn me in such a fashion.’

‘How would you like me to impugn you?’

***

They settled into a booth at a Chinese restaurant. Jack had once brough Carl here, and ordered him duck’s feet, to the other man’s chagrin. Jack thought of himself as a traditional sort of guy but was a lot more willing to try new things than Carl had been.

If you had held him at gunpoint, Jack _might_ have grudgingly admitted that his traditional standing was a little bit of an affectation. He might have agreed that, for all his claims old-fashioned values, he was just as progressive as the next person – provided that the next person was a typical San Francisco member of the so-called liberal elite. He would _never_ admit that. Just like he would never admit that he earned more money than most “average” citizens could dream of or that he had the kind of access to the rich and powerful, and the ability to hold them to account, that most people would consider the epitome of privilege.

‘How’s the family?’ Jack asked.

‘They’re good,’ she said. ‘Jack is riding without stabilisers. He’s a stubborn little thing.’

‘I can’t imagine who he gets that from,’ Jack said lightly.

She smiled. ‘Are you suggesting that I’m stubborn?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry am I supposed to say resilient?’ he asked. ‘Is that the Devon way to speak?’

‘If you’re talking about me then yes, you should say resilient,’ she said sweetly. She licked her lips. ‘Thank you so much for the bike.’

He shrugged. ‘No big deal. I’m sure that I’m way behind on gifts.’

She shook her head. ‘No, you’re always bang on time. Almost suspiciously so.’

Jack leaned forward. ‘I should admit… That I started using a planner. It helps a lot.’

‘Oh,’ she said, trying not to look disappointed.

‘What?’ he asked. ‘Did you think I’d hired an appointment secretary?’

Devon looked at the menu. ‘I suppose that couldn’t hurt.’

Jack picked up his menu. ‘It’s not like my social life is busy enough to need one.’

She looked at him over the top of her menu again. ‘I thought Billy said that you were dating again.’

Jack shrugged. ‘That must’ve been a while ago,’ he said. ‘You know me. Always a loser in love,’ he said lightly.

Devon tilt her head. ‘Still?’

He looked at her. ‘I think I’ll get the orange chicken.’

She was quiet as she looked at him. ‘You know that you can talk to me, Jack? I’m always at the end of the phone.’

A little colour rose in his cheeks. ‘Sure, any time you want.’

She reached out to touch his hand. ‘It’s not any kind of vulnerability to admit that you want to talk.’

‘I talk six nights a week,’ he said. ‘I had no problem talking. You know that.’

‘You can talk about the state of the country until the sun explodes,’ she said. ‘But that’s not what I’m talking about.’

Jack blew out his cheeks. ‘I know what you’re talking about, Devon, and… I don’t need to talk about it.’

‘I wish you would,’ she said.

Jack met her eyes. ‘You know me, Devon. I’m good.’

She sighed. ‘I do know you, Jack. That’s why I worry.’

He shifted in his seat and looked around. ‘What time is your flight back?’

Devon shook her head. ‘Nine,’ she said, giving up as she had so many times before. ‘You should really come out and visit sometime.’

‘Yeah, maybe, that’d be good,’ he said.

She nodded. They both knew he never would.

The End


End file.
